Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2) (27 page)

Lorenzo breaks away first. “We should talk.”

I nod in agreement. I knew this moment was coming. Knew it from the moment his eyes froze in disbelief at seeing me folded over the toilet. The blue of his eyes flat and cold like a lake in winter before transforming into a violent storm of rage and fury.

“I know,” I say instead.

Lorenzo’s mouth is tight as he walks me over to the sofa, and we sit down. He sinks back into the cushions, his arm draped along the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed. He’s not relaxed though. A slight tick is working his jaw, a vein in his forehead throbs, and his right knee bounces lightly.

I perch on the edge of the sofa, ready to spring from the room and lock myself in the bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick. And this time, it won’t even be on purpose. I swallow. It’s like pouring mud down a drain.

Lorenzo breathes out heavily, running a hand through his hair. God, he looks hot when he’s agitated. His jostling knee picks up the pace. “Look, I’m not sure how to start this conversation.” He turns toward me, his blue eyes piercing me with their steady gaze. I’ve never seen him look so serious. “What I saw in Liguria…” he shakes his head “…I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He leans forward and clasps my hand in his own. My hand completely disappears for a moment, and I wish he could cover me whole, erase me completely, absorb me so I cease to exist. “Why Mia?” His voice is gentle, but I detect the unspoken edges, sharp and intense. “Why would you hurt yourself?” He shakes his head again and leans back. “I don’t get it. You’re beautiful. You’re beyond beautiful. You’re fucking perfect. Why would you do something like that to yourself?”

I look down. Why do I do it? It’s been for so long now. The binging and purging, the hiding food, the avoiding food, the obsession with food. Late nights reveling in the angry rumble and ferocious clawing deep in my stomach. Beautiful mornings of light-headed giddiness.

Pure, ethereal, exquisite emptiness.

Self-control. Discipline. Willpower.

Knowing I could do it, I could rule my body and command my mind. Secretly scrutinizing other girls, other dancers. Noting the way their bodies bended gracefully, like a willow tree in spring. As if a gentle breeze stirred them, swayed them softly. Watching the elegant lines of their extended limbs, their flawless turnouts, the way they moved as though on air, floating above the rest of us. I wanted to be like that. I wanted it so bad; the desire to be perfect always tasted way better than any chocolate ever could.

“Answer me, Mia.” Lorenzo’s voice is sharp, his patience waning. “Please, whatever you’re thinking, just tell me.”

“I wanted it too badly,” I finally say.

“Wanted what?” Lorenzo shifts next to me, his face coming into my line of sight. He looks worried, concerned.

I shrug. “I wanted to be the perfect dancer. I wanted to fly across stages around the world, to float on air, to be graceful and limber and so flawless that when you watched me, you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away, you wouldn’t be able to blink.” I meet his eyes, a spark igniting low in my stomach. “You don’t understand.”

“So help me understand. I want to understand.” He’s exasperated now, his eyes pleading with me. “I’m sitting here, begging you to tell me, to help me understand why the hell you would do that to yourself when you’re already all of those things! I can’t tear my eyes from you; I am scared to blink when we’re together for fear that I might miss something.”

I shake my head, blinking rapidly, fighting to hold back the tears that start to sting. “I’m not. I’m not any of those things. I’m nothing now.” I gesture toward my knee. “I’ll never be anything worthy of all the effort, the time, the years of commitment. I dedicated my entire life to dance, to being the best, and now…” I shake my head sadly “…I have nothing to show for it except a hideous scar and thighs that rub together when I walk.” I groan, embarrassed for letting that little truth slip out. “It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting! How can you even stand to look at me? To kiss me?” An image of Lorenzo’s face on the dock, the way it felt when he pulled away from me, flashes through my mind. “You can’t! That’s why you turned me down, not once, twice!” I raise my voice, my hands curling into fists. Anger is better than the hurt, the brutal blow of rejection.
Good, hold on to that, Mia. Cling to it with both hands and don’t let go.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Lorenzo springs to his feet, his face beautiful in his outrage. His jaw strains in fury, the lines strong and solid and fierce. If I wasn’t so enamored by him, if I wasn’t so hurt and humiliated, I would let myself be moved by the emotions radiating from him. For someone to get so worked up, to react so strongly, a part of them, however small, must care.
Right?
I’m beyond hopeless. “Turned you down? Are you crazy?” He swipes a palm over his face and walks away from me.

For a moment, I’m scared he’s going to put his hand through another wall. Except these walls aren’t mine or his, and I silently pray that he doesn’t break anything. His anger is palpable, hanging over us like a storm cloud.

“I would never turn you down.” He finally faces me, his eyes menacing. “Do you have any fucking clue how badly I want you? I told you. I keep telling you. I want it all, Mia. But I want you the right way. Not on some dirty, stained dock in the middle of a tourist trap. Not because you’re scared and want to please me. Not because you need some type of approval from yourself or your friends or whatever the fuck you’re trying to achieve. But because you want me just as much as I want you. Like you can’t catch your next breath if you’re not wrapped around me. Fuck!” He closes his eyes as if in pain. “But you can’t give me half of that, can you?”

Forget about turning the tables on me, he straight up flips them over.

“What do you mean?” I feign confusion, wrinkling my forehead.

“What do I mean? How can you give yourself to anyone? Even a part of yourself? You’re so wrapped up in your own head. Counting calories or bites or whatever the fuck you do before running off to the bathroom and hurting yourself. Not telling anyone, not letting anyone in on your dirty little secret. You would never ask for help. How can I trust you, when you don’t trust anyone? Tell me, do your friends from home know about this?”

I don’t say anything.

“I didn’t think so.” He laughs, but it rings with cruelty. “You talk about rejection. About me turning you down? About being hurt by me? You’re killing me right now! You’re hurting yourself. And no matter how much I could try to be enough for you, you’re too goddamn empty for anyone to fill. You need to try and help yourself, you need to want it, before anyone else can come close to being enough.”

He’s staring right at me, waiting for a reaction. A response. Something.

Those words, his wrath, the truth, rips into me with fresh waves of pain so strong, I fear I may drown.

And my lifeline, the only thing I cling to, is the emptiness.

“You should go,” I tell him quietly.

He covers his eyes with his hands. “Mia, please. I want to help you. I want to be with you. I’m not giving up and I’m not letting you go. You were honest with me in Liguria, about wanting to be my girlfriend. This is me being honest with you: I still want all of you. I still want this.” He gestures between us, his movements agitated. “Please, let me in. Let me help you. But you need to take the first step, Mia.”

I stare at him, watch his face crumble. Instead, I focus on the toe of his shoe as it taps against the tiles.

“I think it’s best if you leave.”

He nods once, a jerk of his head. Lorenzo stalks to the door, his blue shoelaces flashing, and then he’s gone.

I don’t watch him leave, but I flinch when the door bangs closed behind him.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Lorenzo

When I leave Mia’s, she is sitting, still as a statue. Her face is pale, her eyes are blank. She somehow looks both stricken and at peace. I shake my head as I close the door, a little too firmly, behind me.

Well that was a colossal fuckup. I don’t know what I expected or what I was even trying to achieve. But not whatever that was. Mia gave nothing away. She didn’t let me in, not even one fucking inch. How am I supposed to help her when she doesn’t even want help? And now, now that I’m the only person who knows that she’s hurting herself (and for how long has that been going on?) what am I supposed to do?

I almost sideswipe Lexi as I barrel down the street toward my car.

“Whoa there, sailor.” Lexi giggles as her hand comes up and settles on my arm as she steadies herself. “Where’s the fire?”

I turn toward her and her expression falls when she sees my face. “What’s wrong? Is Mia okay?” she asks, concerned. And yet that concern is somehow so misplaced. She doesn’t even know the real Mia. My God, Mia is a master of deception.

I laugh in response, the sound harsh to my own ears. “Yeah.” I nod. “She’s great.” And then I keep walking, yanking my arm out of Lexi’s grasp. I can feel her eyes staring at my back in confusion, but I don’t turn around. I slide into my GranTurismo and pull out into the midday traffic.

When I hit the freeway, I open her up, weaving in and out of cars, passing by the blaring horns and rude gestures. I open the windows, letting the cold air hit me in the face. It’s like a sheet of ice water to my system, instantly cooling my temper, allowing reason to return. But I don’t want to be reasonable right now. I don’t want to think about Mia, the hurt she’s causing herself, the pain she’s wallowing in. I don’t want to remember her stricken expression when I walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light. I don’t want to feel the anger and frustration. I especially don’t want to feel the choking sensation that creeps up my throat. Because the truth is I’m fucking scared. I have no clue what she needs, no idea how to even begin helping her. I just know that I want to. I want to be her everything. I wasn’t fucking around when I told her I wanted it all.

I still do.

I just have no idea how to go about it.

And now isn’t the time for me to figure all that shit out.

So I press the pedal hard and shoot down the highway like a comet, with no destination in mind.

* * *

It’s late when I pull into Sandro’s driveway. His place is an actual mansion. I park in the curve of the horseshoe driveway, clicking the lock button on my key fob as I stroll up to the front door.

Grazia opens it before I can knock. “Buona sera.” She smiles, her dress pressed and her hair pulled back in a neat bun.

“Buona sera, Grazia. Sandro here?”

“Si, upstairs.” She holds the door open wide for me to pass through.

Grazia has been the Pinicchis housekeeper since we were kids. She’s pretty much a permanent fixture in their household. Lord, the secrets that lady must keep.

I knock twice on Sandro’s bedroom door.

“Yeah,” his gruff voice calls out.

I push the door open and walk in, immediately greeted by the smell of tobacco and mint.

“Hey.” I nod at Sandro and kick the door closed behind me, taking a seat on one of the two leather armchairs in front of his desk. Sandro’s bedroom is more of a suite. Hell, it’s like his own private apartment. It takes up an entire wing of the house.

“You look like shit,” he comments. “Want some tea?” He holds up his own mug in invitation.

“No thanks.”

“You sure? It’s calming as hell.”

I snort. “Yeah, I’m good thanks.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t stopped by earlier. Claudia told me things went down with Benito,” he says, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a set of keys. He tosses them to me.

I catch the keys. Shit. I forgot all about Benito while trying to process all this stuff with Mia.

“Kind of,” I say, filling Sandro in on Benito’s visit. He was still sleeping off his hangover when Claudia and I left Liguria. “Thanks for locking the house up,” I add, holding up the ring of keys. I was in such a hurry to go after Mia that I just left a set of keys on the table with a note.

“No problem.” Sandro waves a hand at me. “I’m glad you confronted Benito. My papa is looking to dig into him as well. Enzo, Benito is going to fight you tooth and nail to ensure you don’t contest your papa’s will.”

“I know.”

Sandro smirks at me. “Still … shit with Benito is solvable. It’s not bad enough for you to look like someone just keyed your ride.”

I laugh. “Yeah,” I agree, rubbing my hand over my face. “Got some other shit going on.”

“With the girl?” He raises his eyebrows.

I stare at him for a long minute. How does he know about Mia? I haven’t really been that forthcoming with my friends about her. I didn’t want to make a big deal about anything, especially since I don’t really know where we stand. One minute she’s with me, the next she’s hanging out with Pete. She’s leaving in a few weeks for New York. She’s hurting herself and shutting me out.

I sigh. “Yeah … with the girl. Her name is Mia.”

Sandro laughs. “I know who she is.”

My eyes snap to his. “How?”

“Oh, come on, Enzo. That night at the club? I’ve never seen you act like that toward any girl. Ever. Giulietta was green with jealousy. And then this past weekend at your place in Liguria.” His eyes widen. “Claudia told me she’s your girlfriend.”

I hadn’t thought that anyone noticed me with Mia that night at the club. Once again, I was wrong. And last weekend, well … I was just too swept up in Mia to realize what we must have looked like to other people, to my friends. I completely lose my head when I’m around her.

“So what gives?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. My head is all over the place.”

He fixes me with a stare, taking a small sip of his tea. “Well, you better get it screwed on right because now isn’t the time to lose your shit over some girl when you got this Benito thing going on.”

I nod curtly. Don’t I fucking know it.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Mia

When I open the heavy green door and step outside, the chilly air bites at my cheeks, forcing me to pull my scarf up higher. Thick clouds hang heavy over the city, casting a solemn feel amid the cobblestone streets and old-fashioned shutters. It’s officially winter.